Prey and the Raging Heart
by LovelyLittleFreckle
Summary: <html><head></head>Based on the prompt of Jealous!Liz. Definite Lizzington, M for later chapters. Title is from the quote "Jealousy is a tiger that tears not only its prey but also its own raging heart". I own neither the characters or The Blacklist. Please review... I love reviews :)</html>
1. Chapter 1

Liz hated these little meetings and, for the record, she had hated them well before Samar Movabi came to the task force. It was torture huddling around Aram's desk every Monday, reviewing weekend security footage from the Post Office. She had no idea why they _all_ had to be there. It's not like Samar was going to be of any help anyway; she'd only been there for a few weeks – she wasn't going to be able to tell a security-cleared truck driver from a Pizza Hut delivery guy. Mentally, Liz slapped herself on the wrist: _Stop it, Liz. She's been nothing but kind to you. She saved your life, remember?_

But, annoyingly, Samar had also been nothing but kind to Red - although you could more accurately call that kindness "flirtation". Some days it was more noticeable than others but today it was especially noticeable. Liz had gathered from Samar and Red's semi-whispered conversation, occurring just to the left of her, that they had gone to dinner together on Saturday.

Red had taken Liz to The Occidental before, it's not like it was some big deal that had to be discussed while everyone else was trying to work. They'd gone for her birthday last month. She silently made a bet with herself that Red hadn't even bothered to learn Samar's birthday yet. _You don't have to know someone's birthday to have seen them naked, you know_ – the little voice in her head whispered. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth painfully, trying in vain to focus on the task at hand.

She was brought back into focus when she felt Aram's hand cover hers, holding it still on the stainless steel countertop that served as his desk. He did it quietly, looking up at her and raising his eyebrow. He clearly didn't want anyone to notice that she had been tapping her finger on the countertop impatiently, bless his heart. She mouthed an apology and, without skipping a beat, Aram continued with his overview of the security footage.

Liz breathed deeply, calming herself only slightly as the low whispering from her periphery continued.

"I make a much better béarnaise, I can assure you," Red said in that trademark growl. "The key is finding European sourced butter. The next time I happen upon some, we can enjoy a steak in a more… casual setting," Red's lips were very near to Samar's ear. Liz could see his breath disturb a tendril of her ink-black curls.

Liz rolled her eyes, listening as Samar acknowledged his offer with a hushed but giddy acceptance. _She's a Mossad agent. Like someone who eats Kosher can even have béarnaise on her steak – it's fucking dairy. And meat. Idiot. _She was surprised at the hostile tone her inner monologue had taken on. Maybe she needed coffee. 

She knew she couldn't take much more of this. They were leaning in close to each other, subtly mirroring each other's movements, their shoulders touching. Liz had to look away when Samar reached up to lift a hair off Red's suit jacket, smiling as she did. His head tilted toward her slightly, smiling at her like a dog getting its belly rubbed.

Resorting to desperation, Liz pulled her phone out of her pocket and pretended that she was getting a phone call, excusing herself. The door clanged shut behind her as she took a deep breath, clearing her head as best she could. She tried in vain to tamp down her realization that it was jealousy that caused her to seek refuge in the cold concrete of the hallway. _Come on Liz, it's Red. He's like this with every woman he meets; hell, he mouth kissed the last female associate he got in contact with and she was nearing 70. _

But the Occidental Grill? Seriously? That was special occasion dining. She remembered the time he took her there and how clear it had been upon entering the dining room that he was trying to impress her. He had pulled out her chair and took her coat, but maddeningly did not touch her otherwise… but his eyes wandered to her lips so many times during dinner that she started to wonder if the red wine was staining her teeth. He used _that_ tone with her, the one he used now with Samar, and she remembered how it had made her feel a little breathless at times. She remembered how he had complimented her dress and it made her cheeks flush. Just that morning, before work, her fingers had grazed past the fabric of that little black dress and it brought back enough of that memory to make her blush again.

After a few deep breaths and a couple of meditative focus techniques, she returned to find that the meeting had concluded in her absence.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked Aram, as she passed by his desk on the way to her office.

"Uh, no. I didn't miss anything either, by the way… I know what that was about."

"What _what_ was about?"

"The nervous tapping, the phone call… everyone you know is here." Before Liz could object, he pressed on. "What is it? Are you not a fan of the new girl?"

"It's not that I'm not a fan, she just reminds me of this girl I didn't like in one of my college seminars."

"I know how that goes," he said, clearly not convinced but taking her cue to change the subject. "Agent Ressler reminds me of a kid who stuck gum in my hair in second grade."

Liz laughed. "Are you sure it wasn't him? It doesn't exactly seem out of character."

After some parting pleasantries, Liz walked toward her office feeling a bit unsettled. She should have known that she couldn't fool Aram, he was just too much the gentleman to pry. But if Aram had noticed, she could bet that Red had noticed… that is, on the off chance that he had spared a moment to look her way.

The door to her office was open just slightly and she knew what would be waiting for her on the other side… or more accurately whom. She steeled herself, taking a deep breath and pushing confidently through the door.

"Good morning, Red. How was your weekend?" she said, not taking the time to look at him as she sat at her desk, immediately fumbling with her mouse to wake up the monitor. From the corner of her eye she could see him sitting with his legs crossed, his hat in his lap.

"Enjoyable," he said with what she was sure she sensed as a growl. His tone was suggestive, she was sure of it. It had to have been. "How was your weekend?"

"It was fine."

Her answer had been too short, too clipped. She winced a bit, knowing that she had shown enough of her hand to tip him off.

"Are you sure? You seem a bit on edge this morning. There was a fascinating article in Sunday's edition of the Times about the benefits of switching to decaf coffee, I can find you a copy if you're interested."

Liz slammed her mouse on her desk, her monitor refusing to wake up. Red didn't even so much as flinch.

"I haven't had coffee today," she said.

"Ah, that might be it."

"That's not _it_, I'm not _it_, why is everyone on my ass today?"

Red only smiled, watching her smack the sides of her monitor frantically, finally waking it up. It was quiet for a moment as Liz pretended to check her email. She stole a glance at Red to find him still smirking at her, unmoving, watching her curiously like she was a museum piece that had come to life.

"Can I help you with something or were you just in here to give me coffee advice?" Liz asked.

"No, I was just coming in to get your impression of our newest team member, Miss Movabi."

"She seems like she'll be a good addition," Liz said, keeping her answer simple and avoiding eye contact. As nice as Samar had been, she couldn't quite help but scowl a bit at the thought of her… not just yet. She would have to get over that soon if she was going to keep up this charade. Or what was left of it when Red was done with her this morning.

"Everyone seems rather taken with her already."

"Oh? Do they? Seem taken with her?" Liz said, failing to hide her sarcasm. He was clearly batting her around like a cat with a mouse and she might just as well accept it.

"Well, I thought so anyway. Though Agent Ressler can be hard to read. You on the other hand are a more open book."

"Oh really? Who's profiling now?" she said, pointlessly rearranging papers on her desk.

"It doesn't take much profiling to see that you aren't exactly comfortable with her presence. I mean, really Lizzie, that phone call? Everyone you know is already here."

"I know people!" Liz said, finding herself shouting. "I know _other people_! Why does everyone seem to think that my life revolves around this job? I'm not some friendless, workaholic mess, alright? I could be dating, none of you would ever even know! I could be in a book club!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lizzie. If you were dating someone the FBI would know. Hell, if you were switching to soy the FBI would know."

"The FBI or _you_, Red?"

"Well, both. As is the nature of this relationship."

She scoffed. The rolling boil of anger was itching in her throat, begging for just one more comment to allow itself to bubble over again. The silence that followed did nothing to sate the intensity of her anger.

"_Are_ you dating anyone?" Red asked. He didn't hide his tone of ardent curiosity… it wasn't just idle conversation, it was a battle that would not end until one of them pushed the other within view of the edge.

"I don't know Red, are you dating anyone?"

"It's bad form to answer a question with a question."

"Oh, yeah? Well, its bad form to come in here and corner me into giving my opinion about your new fuck buddy," she said, locking eyes with him. She had never spoken to him this way before, and it was too late to back down. If he wanted to play this game with her, she would make the first move and put him back on his heels.

The proverbial mouse was turning the table, backing the cat into a corner, watching as it crouched into a pounce.

"Are you referring to Miss Movabi?"

"I am."

"What makes you think that she and I have been intimate?"

"I didn't say that you two have been intimate. I said that you two have been fucking. I don't know if you're capable of real intimacy with a person," she said, acid lacing her tone.

"Would you care to find out?" he said, toying with her, batting at her nerves.

"Screw you," she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Such uncharacteristically crude language from such a careful communicator," he said, tilting his head in that cocky way that let her know that he felt he had uncovered something. It was the look he had given Floriana Campo when she had used his name in that hotel room.

"How's this for careful communication," Liz said, leaning toward him. "Flirt with the talent on your own time. Some of us are trying to work."

Their eyes locked, neither of them backing down. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears, hoping that she wasn't as exposed as she felt. She kept her hands still, fearing that if she moved them she would begin to shake.

"Let's put what's left of the decorum out of its misery, Lizzie. I sense that you are jealous of Samar and you aren't doing a very good job of hiding it which leads me to believe that you'd like to hash it out. So let's give it a shot."

"I am not jealous."

"You aren't jealous of her?" Red leaned in closer.

"No."

"It's clear to me that you're lying, whether you realize that you are or not."

"And how do you figure that?"

"Because I can see your pulse racing," he said, gesturing to his own carotid artery and the little scar she had left there not so long ago.

Involuntarily, she splayed her hand under her ear to hide her neck. She was now the mouse trapped in the corner.

"That's just anger," she said.

"Oh, I think it's something much more than that," he purred, getting up from his chair and approaching her desk. He laid his hat over her papers. "It's the anxiety of being replaced, is it not? Of being in unspoken competition with a perceived rival?"

She glared.

"I'm not a fan of games Lizzie, so I will cut to the chase. You have made it clear to me since the day we met that you are not interested in a personal relationship with me of any kind. I have respected as much as possible your need for this job to be your only context for my interest in you. You can continue to blind yourself to my true intentions but if you have changed your mind and are now curious, I propose we have that conversation. But not here. Not now. Not while you're angry."

She felt her breaths coming more quickly, her cheeks getting hot with something that wasn't quite pure anger any longer. Her lips fell open as she felt herself being swiftly disarmed of pretense.

"I will be at my hotel room at seven tonight," he said, becoming formal suddenly, nodding his head matter-of-factly. "Either you can come by and we can get to the business of discussing our intentions like adults, or I expect the rest of our time as professionals to be free of… whatever this was."

Before she could speak, he had closed the door. For a moment she was stunned into stillness, her thoughts a low, imperceptible hum. There was anger, of course. Shock at his boldness. But mostly a genuine fear that she might find herself on his doorstep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

The bar in Red's hotel was so incredibly beautiful – everything was elegant grey and silver, highlighted with bold black accents and fixtures. After taking her seat at the bar and looking around in awe, the bartender approached her, breaking her aesthetic trance. Usually she would have ordered whatever white wine she recognized from the menu, but this time she consulted the bartender. Drastic times called for drastic measures.

"I am about to have a complicated conversation with… someone," she started explaining, hesitantly. "And I need to be relaxed but not too relaxed, if you know what I mean."

The bartender raised an eyebrow at her, obviously curious.

"Business or… extracurricular?" the bartender asked.

"Well," Liz said, wrinkling her nose a bit at the realization. "It's both."

"Man or woman?"

"Man," Liz answered.

"I have just the thing, I'll be right back," the bartender said confidently, pushing open the swinging door to the back room. While she waited, Liz evaluated her outfit. Sure, she could have worn _that_ dress and gotten the upper hand but that wouldn't have done it. That was _his_ favorite dress; she would be wearing it for him. Instead, she wore her favorite jeans, fresh out of the dryer.

The bartender came back with a sweating glass of clear liquid, clinking with ice cubes. _Vodka. Why didn't I think of that; perfect. Strong but undetectable. _

"This," the woman said, setting the glass on Liz's napkin, "will be your best friend."

The two women smiled at each other conspiratorially as Liz lifted the glass to her lips and took a long sip.

"Wow… uh, that's really smooth."

"That's because it's ice water," the woman said, smiling. Liz sputtered, laughing into her glass. "You are an intelligent woman, I can tell. And I'll share with you a bit of wisdom my mother shared with me: no woman ever got what she really wanted by smoothing her edges for a man."

"You may have missed your calling as a life coach," Liz said, smiling.

"The job description is basically the same," she replied, suddenly looking a bit wistful. "And the money is certainly better. But my ex-husband was jealous of all the attention I got from men and he hated the long hours. He even convinced me to quit for a short time."

"What happened?" Liz asked.

"Like I said," the bartender answered with a cocked eyebrow. "_Ex_-husband."

"I have one of those myself," Liz said, raising her glass in recognition. "I only plan on making that mistake once."

"None of us plan on doing it even once, do we?" the bartender said, leaning on the bar. "But we keep getting back on that horse. We dust ourselves off… but we learn to hold on tighter to the reins."

Liz nodded, thanking the bartender as she left to wait on another patron. She left a twenty dollar bill tucked under her empty glass and stepped into the lobby, scanning the area quickly for Red's face.

What was it that she really wanted? What did she even hope to gain from coming here?

She only knew that she could not keep working with Red if her relatively polite requests for information were falling on deaf and dismissive ears. Her pride would not allow for that any longer – each day that she remained a complacent partner while he withheld information, she was loosening the reins. But he had offered her the opportunity for answers tonight. Of course that wasn't really the only thing he was offering, and it wasn't the only thing she was after either, if she was being honest. Her baser curiosities about him were starting to get in the way of work just as much as his little game of keep away.

She remembered the anger she had felt that morning, watching him with Samar. If she felt any softness or attraction to him, it was going to make her slip up again, eventually. And she could not afford that, personally or professionally. One way or another it would be hashed out, and as strange as it was this might be her best option for doing it on her own terms.

But for a moment she fantasized about leaving the hotel – walking out the front doors and standing him up just to see what he would do. She imagined him marching into her office in the morning, demanding to know why she didn't show up, his face would be red and his veins pulsating. Knowing that Red was too much the master of emotions to ever show his hand in that way, she let her mind run on just a bit longer. He would cross the room, grab both the arms of her chair, lean so close she could smell his aftershave… he would lay his emotions bare for her… profess that he loved her. Pin her against the wall and kiss her passionately.

But even in her fantasy she knew he wasn't capable of that. His impenetrable exterior wasn't going to give her that glimpse of him. She'd have to break down those walls herself.

And then, there it was.

That fucking hat.

Striding through the lobby, he took it off and shook the rain from it.

It was 6:55pm.

Every instinct that she was used to indulging told her to turn around, pretend that she hadn't seen him, run away and make him think she didn't care. But it was too late.

"Just in time!" Red said, greeting her happily. If he had doubted for a moment that she would show up, he did not betray it to her. His lack of surprise wounded her… it made her feel weak. Maybe she had given in too easily. "I am having some tea brought up in about fifteen minutes."

"I came here to tell you that I don't think this is a good idea," she said, trying to keep her shoulders square, her neck long. He couldn't think that he got to her that easily.

"I think that if that were the case, you would not have come all the way here in the pouring rain."

She could feel herself scowl at him; he knew her too well. He took a step toward her, reaching out to touch her elbow. Not in an attempt to guide her away, but instead letting his hand linger, working its way slowly down to her hand where he ran his thumb over her wrist… her scar. She felt herself relax.

"I don't intend to hurt your pride, Lizzie." His voice was near a whisper, his eyes trained on hers. "We cannot continue to draw lines in the sand and expect it to yield a result with which either of us is truly happy. I think we could both benefit from some transparency. That's all I'm hoping for."

"I think that might be harder for you than it will be for me," she said, her eyes dancing across his face.

"You might be surprised at how open I can be when I am the one to extend the offer," he said, tilting his head.

"Alright, fine," Liz said, letting go of a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "I hope you ordered chamomile, though. I intend to be in bed at a decent hour."

"As do I," he said as they started toward the elevator.

"My _own_ bed," Liz said, pointedly. Red laughed genuinely, shaking his head.

"Your tendency to jump to conclusions makes me wonder how you ever chose this line of work, Agent Keen. If I had invited you over with that intention, I would have allowed for more time."

"Jesus, it's seven. What time do you go to sleep? Seven forty five?" Liz asked, looking at her watch.

"Midnight, generally," he said nodding in that matter-of-fact way of his, smiling as he watched her face.

"Bullshit," Liz said, barking a laugh.

"You should know better than to ask if you don't want an answer," he said.

"Yes, because you giving me answers when I ask for them is exactly why we're having this little chat tonight," Liz said sarcastically, pressing the silver button in the marble elevator bay. He placed a hand on her back, leading her toward the opening elevator door.

"Don't give up on me just yet, Lizzie."

His answer was playful but she thought she sensed a hint of sadness in his tone.

"I won't."


	3. Chapter 3

Liz calmed her nerves by watching the steam from her tea; she had already burned her tongue, too eager to use it as a crutch to calm her nerves. She ran her stinging tongue against the roof of her mouth while the vapor continued to ghost over the rim of her teacup, taunting her. Red had been describing the flavor profile of the tea as he cleaned up his kettle in the kitchen, but she couldn't focus on his words. The pain from her lips and tongue along with the anxiety of actually being in his room made it impossible to concentrate. Instead she shifted her weight from side to side, crossing her legs and re-crossing them again, attempting to get comfortable on his couch.

Red hadn't wasted any time doffing his suit jacket and tie, leaving them hanging over the couch behind her. She could smell the lingering raindrops settling into the fabric, intensifying the scent of wool, still warm from the heat of his body. She slid herself to the other end of the couch. _Nope, _Liz thought to herself. _That's not helping. _

She watched him as he set about making himself comfortable in the chair across from her. He arranged his teacup on the saucer, the spoon balancing on its rim.

Something about the way he sat, legs crossed and utterly still, always made her feel that she had entered a board room. All discussion, even discussion of emotion, was business to him. Physically Red was a very guarded man, commanding even, if you allowed him that power. Samar seemed to have no problem breaking through that exterior however.

"Since we are officially off the government's clock," he said, gesturing as if to cue her. "Feel free to start your unofficial interrogation of me any time you'd like."

"You know Red, if this wasn't our millionth round of cat-and-mouse I might still be interested in teasing some answers out of you. But frankly, I'm a little exhausted trying to figure out what your angle is with me."

Red chuckled, shaking his head a bit as he picked up his tea.

"Is that so?"

"It is. I have gone through enough since I met you, so just for my own sanity I've made up my own theory about your interest in me. And I'm perfectly content with it."

"And what's your theory, Agent Keen?" he said, taunting her with formal address.

"You think that you're the only one who can withhold that kind of thing, don't you?" she said, laughing humorlessly.

"I don't think you're interested in withholding anything from me. This morning, that certainly didn't seem to be your intent."

She could feel her cheeks begin a creeping prickle; she had never been able to keep her emotions off her face, in the most literal sense. The skin of her cheeks, the muscles of her lips, the dimpling of her chin… they had always given her away. Red tilted his head, as if to gain a better look at her.

"Were you jealous this morning?" he asked. She felt her eyes narrow in frustration. To say no would be childish; why else would she have reacted the way that she had? Surely he knew by now that her issue had not been with his professionalism.

"Yes," she said, hating to say the word aloud.

"Why?" he asked, his eagerness to lay her heart bare crept into the way of his composure. His eyes widened, pupils dilating in anticipation though his body remained still.

For a moment she waited, taking a sip of her now pleasantly warm tea. The liquid passed over her tongue, but she felt nothing on her burnt taste buds. She took a few beats, setting down her cup, settling herself back into the sofa. He was right where she wanted him.

"What are you hoping that I am going to say to you, Red?" she let her voice drop and become soft. "Do you want to hear me say that I am jealous of her being close to you because I'm attracted to you? That I don't like to envision the two of you being together because it makes me wish I was in her place?"

"And what would you have me say in return Agent Keen? That I'm sorry?"

"I don't think you owe me any kind of apology for what you choose to do in your personal life," Liz said, trying to remain composed.

"Then one wonders what prompted your little outburst this morning, if that's your policy," he replied, taking a casual sip of his tea.

The victory he felt, the pride he thought he'd earned, danced in his eyes. He was positively pleased with himself thinking that he had trapped her in a corner again. She was the one who was jealous, and he was just the bystander. The worst part was that Liz knew for a fact that he was well acquainted with the jealousy she had felt that morning. But the luxury that he had, the one that had been denied to her, was not having to see her face when confronted. If he wanted to keep pushing the two of them closer to the edge, she saw her opportunity to make him jump first.

"You watched the security footage that was taken at my house didn't you," she asked, her voice reaching a deeper register, becoming softer still. "Were you jealous when you watched me have sex with Tom?"

She watched the light in his eyes die. Not slowly, not dramatically… instantly.

His breathing quickened, his chest caved involuntarily, shoulders slumped so subtly that it was just this side of visible.

"Yes," he said, his voice faltering. But she watched as he gained his composure back, inch by inch. She could feel him grasping for composure. "It did help knowing that you were no longer in love with him..."

"I may not have been in love with him then," she said, striking for the jugular while it was still exposed. "But you had to have known that I was in love with him before. That even though my feelings for him at the time were dying, that the act itself was familiar. Comforting even. That could not have made it easier for you."

Red reached a delicately tremoring hand toward his tea, taking a long sip before settling himself back into his same relaxed, confident posture. His eyes trained on hers, softer now than before. He squinted at her, studying something she couldn't discern… likely something he couldn't truly see.

"What exactly do you think Samar and I did Saturday evening? After dinner." The last two words were meant to challenge her. There was no easy answer. There was no answer she wanted to articulate.

"It seems clear to me that the two of you had sex," she said, trying to keep her answer simple and clinical. He wanted her to expound upon her irrational emotion; it had to have been his intention. The anguish of knowing what Liz looked like making love to someone else would be nothing compared to the conjuring of her blind jealousy… and goddamn him, he knew that.

Liz's gaze slipped past his to his lips, his chest, his lap… but she snapped them back into place, holding his gaze once again.

"Did you two…?" she asked, her voice a bit meek. The familiar creeping anger from this morning began to simmer in her chest.

"Yes, we did."

His words were intended to sting her… but she knew better than to assume he would lie to her. Manipulation was a strong suit of his, but lying did not seem to be the crutch he leaned upon to do it. Her mind reached an icy place, at a fork in its road. She could easily let tears form in her eyes, show her hand and hope that he wouldn't pity her. She could just as easily get mad at him; that could even be what he wanted. Even if he desired her, she knew that he wouldn't give in until he'd _won_ her. Collected her like a debate trophy. His feelings for her may be pure, ready to be plucked from where they had been growing… but the satisfaction would be hers, not his.

She leaned toward him, her elbows resting on her knees casually.

"And when you did," she said, her voice low and honeyed. "Did you think about me?"

This time, he hesitated.

She heard the answer she didn't know she had been waiting for.

"Yes," he said.

She didn't move… she couldn't move. There would be no turning away from it now.

"And you, Lizzie? Did you find yourself thinking of me when you were making love to your husband?" His voice was a gravelly rumble now.

"Yes."

Their words hung in the air. It hadn't all been in her mind. It hadn't been idle flirtation or the call of duty evoking a budding but platonic partnership. She had not imagined his glances at her, nor he hers. Her mental cataloging of his innuendos, his late night phone calls, his gazing at her mouth… she hadn't been grasping at some imagined connection. Here it was, laid out for them to see. To feel.

She felt herself swallow hard against a tide of emotions – none of which she understood or could even begin to justify. Tears began to sting her eyes, and she reached for her tea hoping to distract herself, so as not to answer for them.

Red got up slowly and crossed the room toward her. She felt afraid. Why? Was it because any time he got close to her it meant she was about to find out that she had been played? This time had to be different… it just had to be. For god's sake they had admitted to thinking about each other while having sex with other people… what could he possibly do to nullify that? He sat so close to her their thighs touched. He gathered her hand toward him, stroking his thumb comfortingly across her knuckles.

They sat for a few moments in silence as Liz's tears retreated, never falling to her cheeks. Their breathing synchronized, the stroking of his thumb keeping time with rise and fall of their chests.

"If we care about each other," she said. "If we have cared about each other this long… why do we always seem to hurt each other?"

"People who find themselves in a life of crime, no matter which side, get what they want by never truly revealing themselves to anyone. It becomes a sickness, it drives people away from us until the only people who cross our paths are the ones who require us to deal in the world of deception. Regardless of the reason, it's what you and I do to each other. But that's not what I want anymore."

"What do you want?" she asked quietly.

"I want this."

His voice was sad, his eyes distant as he continued to stroke her hand. It occurred to her that it was a comfort to him as much as it was meant as a comfort to her.

"Do you think we can ever get over the way we are? Can we ever really stop hurting each other if we don't even know who we are?"

"I think it's possible if we know what we want. As a gesture of faith in that very idea, I can tell you without a doubt that I want to know who you are. And I think that I could let you know me."

She craned her neck to look at him, smiling at the thought of really knowing Raymond Reddington, as unattainable as that might ever be. It was enough that he wanted it.

"I think that we could be good for each other," she said. She watched a genuine smile blossom on his face, as tired as it was. She noticed his eyelids close slowly, the skin around them grey from exhaustion. Lazily, he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. She felt her eyes become heavy, the warmth of the room and the lull of his touch coaxing her toward sleep.

"I'm going to go, I think we need to sleep," she said, getting up and slowly disengaging her hand from his. He looked up at her, his face peaceful and relaxed. "We can continue this conversation tomorrow. Why don't you stop by tomorrow before work, I'll make coffee."

"I'd like that," he said.

On her walk home, she felt buoyant, exhilarated. She reveled in a cloud of abstract satisfaction, without really letting the facts of their interaction settle into her mind just yet. She would parse out those little revelations one at a time, savor them as they returned to her. She had not been alone in her jealousy. She had not been alone in her desire.

The walk was long, but the evening mist settled into the air and rejuvenated her body from its state of comfort and rest. Late fall rendered the early evening hours as dark as the middle of night, and for a moment she wondered if she might just go home and fall asleep herself. She wasn't exactly tired, but she was too excited for morning to arrive. When she got up the next morning, she would make a pot of coffee and have what might be her first normal conversation with Red. What that would lead to, she wasn't sure – but it meant having someone she could turn to. They wouldn't have to hide or obscure their feelings for each other anymore, simplifying their every interaction from here forward.

As she approached her neighborhood, she watched a black SUV turn down her street. It was an everyday occurrence, but one that still left her reaching instinctively for her holster. As she rounded the corner, her heart seized in momentary fear to find the same vehicle pulling away from her front door. Her pace quickened – could they have dropped something? An explosive? She would have to approach with caution. She peered into the set-back doorway of her brownstone, finding something that startled her.

There it was again.

_That fucking hat. _

She mounted her stairs slowly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him as he stood, leaning against her door. The exhaustion in his eyes that she had noticed before was all but gone. Instead they looked wild and bright.

"I couldn't sleep."


	4. Chapter 4

From the kitchen, she watched Red carefully as he regarded her apartment. It wasn't like she hadn't had people over to her place before, but something about him being there made her feel like she was watching someone rifle through her underwear drawer. He was so intent, so discerning that she felt like he was learning things about her that she didn't know that she was confiding. The floorboards creaked under his shoes as he sauntered from wall to wall, carefully taking it all in. He leaned in with his hands behind his back, squinting at a framed photo on her bookshelf. _Ugh Jesus Christ, not that one… not the picture of me fishing,_ she thought to herself.

"I would not have guessed that you enjoyed piscatorial pursuits," he said, clearly amused at his own alliteration. "And look at you, long-arming like a real fisherman."

"Long-arming?" she asked, striding over to him to take a look for herself.

"Long-arming," he said, nodding affirmatively. "When you hold the fish away from your body, closer to the camera. It's an old fisherman's trick to make the fish appear larger in the photo than it really is."

"That was an eighteen pound steelhead!" she contended, defensively.

"Nonetheless," he continued, taking a seat on her couch. "The sight of you in a pair of neoprene waders… And a genuine smile even! I can see why it was worth framing."

"I smile genuinely," she said. "I do it all the time!"

"Well, 'all the time' is an overstatement, but I can attest to seeing it once. I'd be a fool to take all the credit for it, but if I remember correctly it was while we were dancing at the embassy. Maybe it wasn't due to the company though, perhaps a waiter had tripped in the crowd behind me."

"It was the company," Liz said, smiling. "And it was the first time I really felt like I was seeing the real you. I wouldn't have taken you for a dancer."

"I wouldn't call myself a dancer," Red said, wistfully, watching as she took a seat beside him, facing him with her back against the armrest of the couch. "Dancing requires having a partner, I don't frequently have one."

"Well, it sounds as though you have a knack for finding partners when you need them," she said, her tone waxing playful.

"I feel you trying to bait me into a conversation like the one we had earlier," Red said, a crooked smile crossing his face.

"I'm just curious, that's all," Liz said. "I don't envision you spending many nights alone."

"A gentleman doesn't kill and tell, Lizzie."

"How did we get from dancing to kissing?" she asked.

"The two aren't so different are they?" he offered, his eyes dropping to her lips. "People who are good at one, tend to be good at the other."

"Do you have a lot of empirical data on that?" Liz asked.

"Eighth grade, Filmore Secondary School in Pinehurst, Indiana. I fancied myself a ladies man and in so doing decided to take dance classes after school because all the girls were signing up. Mathematically speaking, I figured the odds were certainly in my favor," he said.

"Disgusting," Liz said insincerely, letting out a small burst of laughter.

"No, smart," Red corrected. "I learned how to foxtrot and in the process maybe I learned a few things about which girls were worth asking to the movies."

"Is Samar is any good at… dancing?" Liz asked, her eyes dancing impishly.

"It's not her strong suit," Red said, not betraying any discomfort at being asked the question, though he had to know full well what she meant. "Rushed, off tempo… but not entirely unskilled."

"I see," Liz said, nodding. She felt the part of her that leaned upon impulse start to creep into control. It wasn't simply impulse though, it was a chess game. She had had enough of his verbal sparring and after getting a taste of what it was like to win a match with him earlier that evening, she found herself wanting another taste.

She shifted her posture and leaned in close to his ear, her lips nearly touching his skin. Delicately, she let the fattest part of her lip suggest itself to his earlobe, coming so close she could feel the tiny hairs from his skin touch her lips. The muscles of his chest tensed in surprise, his breathing becoming a bit shallower.

"What did she wear to dinner?" she whispered into his ear, the warmth of her breath causing goose bumps to bloom across his neck. From the corner of her eye, she could see his eyes flutter closed.

"I uh…" he said, stopping to clear his throat as his words came out in a croak. "I don't…"

"Don't tell me you don't remember, Red. What did she wear?" her voice was still a whisper. She placed her hand on his cheek and he leaned against it with a sigh, craning his ear away from her lips just slightly.

"It was a… red… cocktail dress. Zipper in the back," he said, his voice guttural.

"Did you pull out her chair for her?" she asked, her lower lip dragging across his earlobe.

"Of course I did, what am I? A monster?" he said, a smile sliding across his lips.

"Such a gentleman," she whispered. Red bit down on his own lip, hard enough for the skin to turn white.

"I'll bet you ordered her an Aviation," she asked, remembering the purple drink he had ordered for her that tasted like springtime. She could feel the memory of it sweep across her tongue.

"Chardonnay," he answered in a growl.

"Boring," she said, letting the "b" pop on her lips, blowing a delicate breath onto his skin. "After dinner, your place or hers?"

"You don't have to do this, you're just-…" his sentence turned into a groan as she swung her leg over his lap, bringing them face to face.

"Your place or hers, Red," she said again, her finger lifting his chin forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Hers."

She hovered her lips over his now, so close the tips of their noses brushed against each other. His eyes fell to her lips.

"Let me guess," she continued, tilting her head to the side. "Minimal furniture. Twin bed. Clothes on the floor."

"How did you know?" he said, meeting her eyes.

"Profiling 101," she said, smiling. "She isn't seeking permanence. She drifts. No time for dating, no time to get settled. Everything temporary, moveable."

"Very good, Agent Keen," he said, placing his hands on her waist, attempting to pull her closer but she was much too strong to be moved at his polite suggestion.

"Did you stay the night?" she asked, lowering herself into his lap, their eyes nearly level.

"I didn't," he said. "I noticed on our way in, as I was unzipping her dress, that she didn't have a coffee maker." He was calling her bluff, trying to corner her into another outburst. This time he wouldn't have the satisfaction.

"And is that why you showed up at my place, Red? For the coffee?" she asked, leaning in so close that their breath mingled. His was warm and heavy with just the hint of cigar smoke.

"I'm here because I need something more than… company," he said, the breath of his words filling her lungs. "When I found out that the feelings I have for you were requited… that it didn't scare you…"

"Why would it scare me?" she asked, leaning back a bit to look at his face only to find his eyes sad, the corners of his mouth downturned.

"I'm a criminal. It doesn't matter to the women for whom I do not have feelings but you've certainly noticed that the women I care for don't fare well. I intend to keep you safe above all else, but… you'd have reason to be scared."

"You don't scare me," she said in a whisper. To Raymond Reddington it was as much a declaration of love as the real thing itself; she knew this. For a man who had not known true care, true love for many years it was a touch of humanity so intimate it felt as though it was hanging in the air around them. She truly saw him, had broken through the first layer of his disguise – the silent aggression that kept all but the fool hearted at bay. But Elizabeth Keen was not foolish… she was brave.

She pressed her lips against his, tender and reverent as they absorbed the warmth from his skin. His scent enveloped her, like parchment and firewood, warm and clean. She felt a tugging in her chest like the last miles on the road toward some imagined home. There was an urgency, a sweetness that felt familiar and electric. The taste of him lingered on her lips as she pulled away to look at his face, to ground herself to reality. This was the man who caused her such consternation… such confusion… who she had just recently allowed to make her feel jealous to the point of delusion. But still he drew her in, everything about him. She touched the delicate wrinkles near his eyes, the weathered but beautiful skin of his cheeks. His dark eyes were glassy, pooling in the corners.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He took a ragged breath, placing his hands on her face before speaking.

"You have to know that this is different for me, Lizzie. You can't be to me what Samar was because she was nothing. You'll never be some passing fancy. And I can't be that for you either, I'm no good at tempering my feelings for someone."

"You already know that I'm no good at holding back either."

"Yes. But I need to know this isn't just an impulse," he said, imploringly. "Because I can't see what you'd want with a monster like me, Lizzie."

The words stung. And all the more because they were her own. Time and time again she had referred to him that way, at times using those words knowing full well the pain they would cause him. She was reminded again of the salty sweetness of their relationship to this point. Affection tinged with trepidation, wanting mingled with jealousy… even now after the admissions of the past few hours, it all seemed a game. It was time to overturn the chess board.

"Monsters are always complicated, the good ones anyway. But that's not what you are, Red." She trained her eyes on his, locking his gaze. "You are a protector; a good man who is willing to do monstrous things to keep those that you deem worthy safe. It was the first thing I put in your profile. This is no impulse; I've wanted this." She watched his eyes begin to brighten again. "I've wanted _you_."

And in those simple moments when the chess pieces of pretense settled into their scattered places on the periphery… he became everything around her. His lips were urgent against hers, his breath like steam as he dragged kisses down her throat and across her chest. Liz's hands trembled, not with nerves but with adrenaline, as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, the buckle of his belt, the clasp of her bra.

It would be the little things she would remember later; because except for the one big thing, they were all little things in the end. But they were her favorites. She fought the urge to frame each one in her mind, the compulsion of a lonely girl with separation anxiety, making a mental museum for when inevitably they would have to part. She fought to stay present until she didn't have to fight anymore; there was no other place her mind could go.

There was the way his tongue glided across hers, painfully slow at first and then haphazardly passionate, their teeth in danger of crashing together. Then there were all the things that made him real and different from past lovers with their boyish, comparatively timid physiques and their unseasoned looks. The hair of his chest surprised her, although she thought to herself that it shouldn't, and it tickled her bare skin, inspiring her to take a moment to rake her fingers through it before grasping at the skin underneath. His hand pressed against her throat as he laid her down on the sheets, not obstructing her breath but catching it for just a moment under his palm as she let herself fall backwards softly. She remembered laying herself bare for him, all of her, for the first time, and the way he looked at her as though he had been bestowed a gift, an offering too good to ever be deserved.

He had teased her for the way her legs trembled against the sides of his face when he kissed her wetness, batted her delicate skin with his tongue. She remembered feeling the vibration of his groan as their bodies truly met for the first time, the way her head spun with the feel of it, the absolute ecstasy of her legs cradling his hips, allowing him fully, deeply… absolutely. She could taste the salt of his sweat, slick on her lips as she kissed his throat and drew her tongue over the scar at his neck.

He growled in that low voice, close to her ear, even though she couldn't find a way to form words in response… only whimpers and gasps, squeals and screams. He spoke of her beauty in whispered breaths, of how long he'd waited to see her like this… dreamt of the day he'd watch her come, hear her say his name. _Raymond_.

In the still of the night, her body was utterly exhausted but her mind was still wide awake. She watched him sleep like a child, his eyes drifting back and forth under their lids, breaths escaping in little puffs between his lips, pouted as they were from his cheek resting against her pillow. His cheek. On her pillow. They had just been as intimate as two people could be, and still the idea of his body on her sheets made her shiver with a rare type of wonder. She curled herself into the arch his body made, her spine pressed against his chest, her backside cold against his warmth and she felt his arm drape around her, caressing one of her breasts instinctively with his fingers. She drifted off to sleep in his arms, hoping that maybe they morning didn't have to come so early.

But it did… and she woke to the sound of his voice in her kitchen, quiet but clear. Disoriented and a bit dejected to wake up without him next to her, she threw on a robe and padded down the hall quietly to see what he was doing. She stopped for a moment to listen; he was on the phone.

"Yes, I know Dembe. I would ask her but she's still sleeping…"

She could hear him fumbling with something, the slightly frustrated movement of plastic and latches.

"It's telling me to insert a pod, what the hell is a _pod_?... Well that doesn't make any sense, where do you put the water?... Yes, Keurig, K-E-U-R-I-G…"

She cleared her throat and he turned around, standing at her coffee maker fully dressed except for his suit jacket.

"Well, she must have sensed I was making coffee, she's awake now," he said, smiling at her. "Tell Harold that there was a delivery truck blocking Agent Keen's car, she'll be late this morning. I don't care where he thinks I am." He clicked his phone shut.

"How about instead of watching you screw around with my coffee maker, we grab something on the way?" she said, closing the distance between them in a few eager strides, fiddling with the knot of his tie although it was already perfect. He parted her robe, running his hand from her throat to her breastbone and over her stomach, his fingers lingering just under her bellybutton.

"Yes, watching you get dressed sounds like a better way to spend my time this morning," he said, planting a kiss near her ear.

"Well, I'm taking a shower first, so isn't your morning going to be fascinating," she said, stretching her arms above her head. Red's eyes fell to her breasts. "Hey, do you mind? Someone told Harold I'd be at work some time this morning."

As he followed her back down the hall, he watched as she tossed her robe onto the floor in her bedroom. She realized suddenly that soon this would have to come to an end.

"What do we do when we get to work?" she asked, not really hoping for an answer. "We're still in the middle of a case."

"Well," he said leaning against the doorway of her bathroom. "I'll give you a fifteen minute head start from the café. When I come in, I'll check in with Harold, spend about 10 minutes in your office as I always do… door open. And then we go back to pretending that we don't want to rip each other's clothes off. Certainly you remember how to do that."

"I don't really think I do," she said, honestly.

"Then I'll walk into Cooper's office, declare my love for you and let the chips fall where they may," he said, shrugging as if it were nothing.

"How about something in between," Liz said, turning on the water in her shower while he watched her from the doorway.

"Alright. At work we play the best charade we can, and then tonight I take you to dinner."

"Anywhere but the Occidental," Liz said, smiling at him playfully.

"Yes," he said. "I think I'm through with the Occidental."


End file.
